Contains the following trigger warnings: mentions of death
It was morning now.
The police had left me after two hours of questioning. I was sitting on a bench outside of the motel, still in shock. I kept replaying it in my mind, each time making less sense. I couldn't put the pieces together, nothing fit. The only thing that seemed possible was the impossible.
"There are no signs of homicide on the victim's body. Did the girl say anything else?" an officer off to the side was saying to a colleague.
"No we haven't got anything more out of her," the other said. "It wasn't her though. I can tell."
I was in shock and I could barely speak, so when the police questioned me I barely said anything. I was approached a few more times, trying to say more but failing miserably when the words seemed unable to leave my mouth. I couldn't believe what had happened. It felt like I was swimming in an ocean that I couldn't get out of, drowning in an endless sea of sorrow.
Out of the corner of my teary eyes, I saw a shiny black car pull up. It slowed, then came to a stop. An old man stepped out of it and looked around. Shit, I recognized him from somewhere. Where did I know him from? He glanced around the area before his eyes landed on me.
I quickly looked away, not wanting to draw attention to myself. The man started to make his way towards me after a few seconds. I nervously sighed and waited as he approached.
Upon closer inspection I noticed a few extra details about the man. He was wearing a black old fashioned suit paired with shiny black shoes. A briefcase in hand and a determined expression on his face gave me the impression that he wasn't leaving until he got the information he wanted. He had a gray mustache that twirled up at the ends and a gray goatee to match. Everything about the man seemed rather odd. The most distinctive feature, however, was the monocle that sat on his left eye.
He stopped about three feet away from me and glanced around the area. His eyes froze briefly on the policemen, but then he looked back at me.
"Hello, Miss Carter, I would like to have a word with you, if that is alright." the man stated. I stared at him inquisitively. I think he got the point because he then introduced himself. "My name is Reginald Hargreeves, founder of the famed Umbrella Academy, and I have a few questions to ask you."
Holy shit. That's where I knew him from. He had a bunch of super powered teenagers running around his house. So why was he talking to me?
From what I'd heard about the man, he rarely engaged with anyone. He never said anything to the paparazzi, and gave limited information to the news casters. The Umbrella Academy and its founder were a closed book, so why was I being approached by the strange man?
Still seeing the confusion on my face he sighed. He gestured towards the bench I was sitting on and I nodded moving over to give him space.
"I'm terribly sorry for your loss." he began, but being met with silence he continued. "Your mother too. She was a very caring woman."
Now that caught my attention.
"You knew my mother?"
"I did, yes. And although you wouldn't remember, I've also met you." He looked away from me and set his eyesight on something far away. "October 1st, 1989, ring a bell, perhaps?"
"You were..." I trailed off as the realization hit.
"Ah, your mother told you. Yes, I am the man who wanted to adopt you."
"You offered her millions of dollars, why? Why me?"
I was finally able to ask the question I'd been begging to ask for years, and I would finally get the answer. After years of wondering why I had been so valuable, why I was worth tens of millions of dollars to this man. I would finally get some answers as to why this all happened.
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This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things//Five Hargreeves
Фанфик"This is why we can't have nice things, darling Because you break them, I had to take them away This is why can't have nice things, honey Did you think I wouldn't hear All the things you said about me?" On the 12th hour of the first day of October...
